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Friday, August 22, 2003

Open House

My mother’s been having one of her adventures again; it seems since she’s thrown the shackles of my father off, she’s getting herself into more and more preposterous situations in a manner similar to Penelope Pitstop, but without the fabulous pink car, unfortunately. This time, she’d gone out for a drinkie with her best friend to a singles club, on the express wish to get drunk with old men because they buy you pints. I like her thinking.

Oh, she’s no stranger to pints, and certainly no lady. She was at a wedding on the weekend, and loudly proclaimed to all and sundry that she could drink a half-pint faster than anyone. I’ve certainly gone up against her, and the speed she gollups it down would put a dialysis machine to shame. Regrettably she’d made this rather rash claim after hovering half the buffet and a couple of voddies down, and a burly 6’4 builder on the grooms side said he was up for it. “Name your drink,” she said in a manner too close to a duelling weapon. He chose Melon Reef.

They faced each other, her with her half-pint of Reef in a glass, him with his in a bottle. People were massaging their shoulders and encouraging them; eyewitnesses say it was more like a prize fight than a drinking contest. And on three, they both downed their drinks...

...with my mother slamming the glass on the table first. The crowd went wild! This builder was most put out. He demanded a re-match, this time with them both in glasses. The Reef bubbled around on top of the buffet, yet still she said yes. Poised, the count from three started - and the builder started a second early! Determined to keep her crown, my dear mother downed it again and the astonished crowd watched as they slammed their glasses down at the same time. Builder was disqualified and went away thoroughly humiliated, Mother was crowned queen of the wedding and probably went to throw up behind the marquee, although she never said this as she does try and retain a manner of decorum in front of her family. We all, of course, know different.

Anyway, back to the story. She’d gone and got pissed with her best friend at a working men’s club singles night, and got home to find that she’d lost her house keys. So she does the sensible thing and goes and to try and find a policeman.

They’re busily swerving down the high street when they see a cop car in front of them travelling, unlike them, at the regular 35 miles per hour and in a straight line. They beep their horn and flash their lights, but the police ignore them and drive off. Mother’s not having this, guns the engine and chases after them, lights flashing and horn going. The police try to evade them, but she holds the corners like a formula one driver, and the end result can only be described as a reverse police chase. They finally screech to a halt in a car park, cornered, and surrender to my mother.

She finally gets home around three after they’d broken down her door; when asked what she was going to do with a swinging front door, she almost persuaded them to keep watch on the house all night. She’s taken quite a shine to one of them, you see.

I hope she’s staying in tonight.

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